ep you
in the city this evening, John; but of course I realize you have
much to do before we sail on Wednesday. Alice Grey just phoned
over that she has a box at a theatre somewhere, I didn't ask her
where, but if you're sure you won't be home I'll go with Alice and
Aunt Martha."

"By all means," I answered, and kissing her good-bue I trolleyed to
New Rochelle.

Bunch was there ahead of me and so were Skinski and Ma'moiselle
Dodo, all working like beavers.

"I'm going to take the 11:40 to town," Skinski informed us after
all was in readiness for the performance. "I have a very important
date, haven't I, Dodey?"

"You betcher sweet!" she puffingly replied.

"But I'll be back before six o'clock and I'll give 'em the show of
my life," Skinski continued. "How's the sale?"

"There's a three hundred dollar advance sale," Bunch replied; "and
Pietro in the box office says we're good for a five or six hundred
dollar window sale if it's a fine night. You can gamble we've let
'em know we're in town, all right!"

"Right!" chirped Skinski. "You're the best bunch of managers I
ever roomed with and nothing's too good for you. I'm for the 11:40
thing now, so you better rent a stall in the local hotel and rest
up till show time. How about you, Dodey? Are you for hunting a
thirst-killing palace and getting busy with a dipper of suds?"

"You betcher sweet!" the large lady replied, and with that she
grabbed Skinski's arm and they left us flat.

Bunch and I loafed around till about an hour before show time, when
we put a young chap we had sworn to secrecy on the door, and then
we went back on the stage and began to chatter nervously.

At seven o'clock Dodo came in with one of those sunburst souses,
and as she went sailing by to her dressing room she gave us the
haughty head and murmured, "You betcher sweet!"

Seven thirty and no Skinski.

I was nervous, but I wasn't a marker to Bunch. He had long since
graduated from biting his finger nails, and was now engaged in
eating the brim of his opera hat.

Seven forty-five and no Skinski.

I was afraid to tell Bunch what I was thinking, and Bunch was
afraid to think for fear he'd spill something.

Eight o'clock came and still no Skinski.

It was pitiful.

I began to see visions of an insulted audience reaching for my
collar over the prostrate form of my partner in crime.

An usher came back at 8:10 and told us the house was full.

I grinned at him foolishly and B